


Punch Drunk

by FrameofMind



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 18:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2478308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrameofMind/pseuds/FrameofMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jin, Ryo, Yamapi, and a police station. [Enter Kamenashi, with opinions.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Punch Drunk

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Punch Drunk  
> Author: FrameofMind  
> Pairing: Akame  
> Genre: Humor/Romance  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Word Count: ~5,300  
> Disclaimer: This is fiction. It’s also based (loosely) on a tabloid rumor, so please take even the hey-didn’t-I-read-that-somewhere parts with a handful of salt. This story just for fun, and should by no means be used as evidence in a court of law. (Or a court of public opinion. ;)  
> Summary: Jin, Ryo, Yamapi, and a police station. [Enter Kamenashi, with opinions.]  
> Author’s Note: This fic is for Gina (moon_catcher), who requested a riff on [this](http://aramajapan.com/featured/akanishi-troop-steals-a-girls-phone-after-a-fight/2391/) tabloid rumor about an incident in a club…

Kame really looks spectacular when he’s angry. All fierce and dangerous even in his eerie calm. Especially when he’s angry while wearing a tux, his dark hair all perfectly coiffed around his face like that, as if he’s been interrupted by Jin’s call in the middle of a gentlemen’s ball in a villa in Austria in 1936.  
  
Jin feels a bit schlumpy by comparison, sitting here in his wrinkled t-shirt, his messy hair getting stuck to the bruised cut underneath his left eye, as if he’s been interrupted by the police in the middle of a brawl in a nightclub and an evening of probably too much public drunkenness now that he thinks about it in Roppongi. In 2014.  
  
At least the police let them stay here in the interrogation room for privacy, rather than locking them up in the drunk tank with the rest of the bums. Though he suspects Yamapi’s diplomatic entreaties were more effective in making that happen than Jin’s panicked “You can’t put us in there! Don’t you know who we are?”  
  
(He’s just glad Kame wasn’t here to see that part.)  
  
“You are a grown man with a family, Jin,” Kame lectures, standing across the metal table just where the policeman guy stood a couple of hours ago when he was asking them too many detailed questions about things Jin had barely been conscious of when they were actually happening. “You cannot just go around punching strangers in bars because they piss you off.”  
  
“I didn’t punch anybody!” Jin protests, sitting up a little straighter on his creaky metal folding chair—though he slumps again pretty quickly, because the movement makes his head swim and his stomach lurch. He can’t tell whether it’s more from the booze or the bruises. Maybe they’re working in tandem. Like that jerk with the sparkly cell phone and his surprisingly bloodthirsty girlfriend. “Ryo was the one doing all the punching. I tried to stop him.”  
  
“They deserved it,” Ryo grumbles from his place in the middle chair, arms folded and legs sprawling. “They were both fucking assholes.”  
  
Yamapi clears his throat from over in the third chair. “Ryo’s right,” he says to Kame, appropriately embarrassed, but earnest. “They really were kind of asking for it.”  
  
Kame takes this in with a nod and no lecturing or skepticism whatsoever, and Jin shoots a glare at Yamapi over Ryo’s head. How come  _he_  gets such special treatment?  
  
“Nonetheless,” Kame says, turning to Jin again—unfair bastard, with his stupid unfair hair and face and tux that looks perfect and  _god_ , what was he, like, meeting the Queen of England or the Dalai Lama or something?  _Nobody_  looks that good when you call them randomly at two a.m. “You have to learn to rise above that. Whatever they did or said, you cannot just—”  
  
“They were  _filming_  us, Kame,” Jin protests, crossing his arms huffily to hide the little smear of blood he’s just noticed on the side of his white t-shirt. “Even after the bouncer kicked them out  _twice_ , they kept sneaking back in and trying to get shit on us. They filmed me talking about  _you_.”  
  
Kame’s eyes flicker, halfway between annoyed and disconcerted, and—right. Shit. He meant to  _not_  mention that part. This will not make Kame’s temper less temperamental. Why doesn’t he write these things down?  
  
Kame looks to Yamapi for confirmation.  
  
“I don’t think they knew what they had,” Yamapi reassures him, shifting on his chair a little, palms on his knees. “They just seemed to be the usual rubberneckers, sticking their nose in where it doesn’t belong and hoping to catch us doing something embarrassing. But yeah, they heard us talking about you.”  
  
Kame turns back to Jin. “What were you saying?”  
  
“Nothing bad,” Jin says quickly, trying not to fidget. Or, like, move. Or blink.  
  
Kame narrows his eyes. “But…?”  
  
Jin purses his lips and holds out for a few long moments, which is really pretty good when you’re up against  _that_ , he thinks. Also his eyes are sort of starting to sting. “…Stuff people aren’t really supposed to hear.”  
  
The glare sharpens, predictably, and Jin winces.  
  
“Dammit, Jin…”  
  
“It wasn’t his fault!” Ryo barks, sitting up so quickly Jin makes half a move to stop him jumping over the table at Kame like he did back at the club. “We were totally safe! Those assholes just kept pushing their way in like they owned the fucking place.”  
  
“Do they still have the recording?”  
  
Jin shakes his head. “Yamapi deleted it while Ryo was sitting on the guy’s chest and the girl was kicking him in the kidneys trying to shove him off.”  
  
Kame glances at Jin again and gives a little sigh of…relief? Maybe, if relief is supposed to look like irritation. “At least you brought adult supervision.”  
  
“Hey!” Ryo yells, shooting to his feet and nearly knocking the chair over backwards. Kame’s eyebrows arch in surprise, but he doesn’t flinch—just gives Ryo sort of a bemused stare as he sways a bit to find his balance. “Don’t you go blaming all this shit on him, okay? It’s those fuckers and their fucking nosy…fucking around, that you should be blaming, Kamenashi! And if you want a fucking fight with someone, I’ll fucking give you—”  
  
“Whoa, whoa,” Jin lurches to his feet and grabs Ryo’s left elbow to stop him climbing up on the table, just as Yamapi does the same from the right. “Chill out, man—Kame’s bailing us out here.”  
  
“Who the fuck cares!” Ryo snarls, trying to shake Jin off and accidentally elbowing him in the ribs in the process. “If he’s gonna be an asshole about it, let’s just spend the night in the slammer! Fuck him. Fuck assholes everywhere!”  
  
Kame gives Jin a bewildered look. “Is he okay?”  
  
Jin returns an apologetic shrug, wincing away from Ryo’s increasingly incoherent shouting in his ear. “He got there late. I don’t think the three firebombs he did to catch up really agreed with him.”  
  
“I am fucking  _president_  of kicking assholes!”  
  
“Ooookay,” Yamapi says, tugging Ryo gently away from Jin, who’s starting to feel a bit green around the gills again from all the shouting. “I think that’s enough of that.” It’s not actually that hard, as it turns out, because Ryo might be strong enough, but his balance is shot to hell. He ends up stumbling against Yamapi’s chest, which Yamapi takes as an opportunity to clamp an arm around Ryo’s shoulders and guide him toward the door. “These guys need to talk, Ryo-chan—let’s go see a man about a horse, shall we?”  
  
“I’m president of horses too!”  
  
The door clicks shut.  
  
Jin is gingerly tugging the hair away from his scab again, so it takes him a moment to realize that Kame has turned back to him. He’s not saying anything—just looking at him. It’s that sort of grimly disappointed look that makes Jin both pissy (because really, Kamenashi is not his mother) and guilty (because mother or not…Kamenashi is usually right anyway).  
  
“I’m sorry, okay?” he mumbles, scratching at his hairline. “It’s not like I planned it to go like this. We were just talking. I didn’t notice until it was too late, and suddenly Ryo was going all…Rambo on their asses, or whatever.”  
  
Kame lets him fidget for a moment longer. Then he sighs heavily and turns away.  
  
“Whatever,” he says as he reaches for the door handle. “Let’s just get out of here.”  
  
Jin feels a little leap in his chest—because, to be honest, he was starting to wonder if Kame was angry enough to actually leave him here for the night—but really, he supposes he knew he wouldn’t do that. If he’d intended to leave them there, he’d have just not turned up in the first place. Why come all the way down here just to turn around and leave empty-handed?  
  
Kame pays the bail and signs the papers on the condition that Yamapi agrees to keep track of Ryo until he’s properly sober again. No one is dying of alcohol poisoning or getting themselves arrested again when they’re released under his care. The other two hail a cab on the corner while Kame leads Jin around the block to where Kame has parked his Mercedes.  
  
Jin feels even more grungy and disheveled sliding down into Kame’s buttery leather seats, even though he’s ridden in this car more times than he can count, and not always in a sharp suit. Usually when he’s frumpy in it, they’re both frumpy—and he’s not usually dirty and bloodied up like he’s just finished filming an episode of Gokusen.  
  
Kame didn’t even have this car then.  
  
It’s a quiet ride. Kame never turns on the radio himself, except sometimes to listen to a talk station or something, but this late at night there’s not much on but infomercials and weird shows where psychics claim to contact the dead (which Jin finds way too creepy to listen to in the dark anyway). Usually Jin would turn it on and find something he likes, but he doesn’t want to test Kame’s patience at the moment, lest he end up left on the pavement to hitchhike—which would be his only remaining option because he lost his wallet somewhere in the evening’s confusion. It’s probably still at the club somewhere. He’ll call them tomorrow.  
  
He keeps expecting Kame to say something—start the lecture all over again, maybe, or ask for details about what was said—but every time he glances over Kame is just watching the road. Thinking thoughts.  
  
He wants to ask what they are. But he doesn’t want to press his luck there either.  
  
He’s a little surprised when they pull up at Kame’s building. Not that it’s all that surprising, really—Jin usually comes here after a late night so he doesn’t risk waking Theia, just part of the routine. But he sort of assumed that, under the circumstances, Kame would prefer to drop him off at his own place instead tonight. Maybe he plans to make him sleep on the couch.  
  
Jin unbuckles his seatbelt when Kame does and follows him to the elevator at the corner of the garage. Watches the numbers in the elevator counting away the floors as Kame fiddles with his keys and frowns to himself. Still thinking. Jin can see it.  
  
He’s a half-step behind all the way down the hallway even though he knows perfectly well where they’re going, and he waits patiently as Kame unlocks the door. Once the door is closed safely behind them, Kame drops his keys on the table and shrugs out of his suit coat, draping it neatly over the back of one of the dining table chairs. Then he turns to Jin.  
  
“Sit.”  
  
Jin blinks. A little twitch of Kame’s head indicates the couch, and then Kame’s turned away again, disappearing into the bathroom.  
  
Jin walks over to the couch and sits down. He doesn’t really get comfortable like he usually would, just sort of perches himself on the edge of the cushion, still peering toward the half-open door to the bathroom even though he can’t actually see Kame moving around in there.  
  
When Kame comes back out, Jin clears his throat and sits up again, trying to pretend he wasn’t snooping.  
  
His tie is gone now and his collar is opened a little, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow as he sits down on the edge of the coffee table, right between Jin’s knees. He’s got a damp cloth in one hand and a little zippered bag in the other, and he ignores Jin’s questioning look as he sets both down beside him and looks up again—not exactly at Jin, but at his face. He holds Jin’s chin steady with one hand and picks up the cloth again with the other and presses it right against the bruise which  _stings_ , fuck—  
  
“Ow!” Jin tries to jerk his head away but Kame doesn’t let him, adjusting his hold to the back of Jin’s neck and shifting to a little dabbing motion. It’s gentle, but the skin is sensitive, and it’s right under his eye, makes his eye water, and…but, okay, it’s not really that terrible once he gets used to the heat and pressure, and Kame’s hand curled around the back of his neck is kind of nice, that concentrated little frown only a few inches from Jin’s face now.  
  
Kame is really beautiful when he’s angry. Or even just sort of mildly pissed off. Or frustrated. Most of the other times too.  
  
Kame wipes at a particularly stubborn bit of blood over the bruise, and Jin flinches away involuntarily.  
  
“Hold still,” Kame says. Not a command, but firm and calm, just like the hand on Jin’s neck. He’s diligent and careful, and the touch really is as gentle as he can make it. The frown might not even be pissy anymore, just sort of concerned. Maybe even sympathetic?  
  
There will surely be plenty of time for pissy when he’s through though. Jin knows Kame better than to think he’s off the hook yet.  
  
The hurt gradually fades and he’s almost sort of getting into the cleaning bit when Kame turns and sets the cloth aside. The comforting hand disappears as Kame fiddles with a cotton ball and a bottle of antiseptic, and then it’s back and there’s a sharp cold  _ouch_ —  
  
Jin hisses through his teeth and closes his eyes, but determinedly stays still. Kame dabs all around the cut a few times, and then it’s done. A wrapper peeling away, and light fingers again as Kame carefully presses a bandaid over the cut. When both hands disappear, Jin opens his eyes again to see him putting away his supplies.  
  
He brushes fingertips over the bandaid, which at least covers the cut, though it must look pretty silly over the bruise he can feel forming all around it. No photoshoots or video releases for a few weeks, he supposes. Just as well he didn’t have any on the schedule.  
  
When Kame turns back to him, Jin isn’t quite sure how to interpret the look. He still doesn’t really look pissed anymore—not on the surface anyway—but he doesn’t exactly look happy either. It doesn’t seem like the beginning of another lecture, but then who knows, Kame could lecture hanging upside down from the Eiffel Tower, so maybe Jin should be bracing himself for round two.  
  
But when Kame leans forward and curls his fingers in the front of Jin’s t-shirt, tugs him forward and presses their mouths together, it sure doesn’t feel like a lecture.  
  
It’s soft and hard at once, gentle and a little bit demanding. He doesn’t drive his tongue inside but he doesn’t shyly ask permission either, just opens and expects, and Jin is there with him, even though his head is still a little fuzzy and his left eye is still watering a bit from the medical care—but Kame tastes good, and Jin would much rather do this than get yelled at again, that’s for sure.  
  
Kame slides an arm around Jin’s shoulders and pulls him closer, as close as they can get with their knees in the way, and Jin’s got his arms around Kame’s waist as well, sort of surreptitiously tugging the tuxedo shirt free from the tuxedo pants, which Kame doesn’t seem to mind. His palm brushes Jin’s cheek, careful of the bruise even as he’s getting a little bit breathless.  
  
Yep. Definitely better than a lecture.  
  
“Any other injuries I should be concerned about?” he breathes against Jin’s lips, and though it sounds a little bit wry, it definitely doesn’t sound angry. Jin tries to think, but kind of everything feels good at the moment, so it’s hard to say. He’s pretty sure he’s okay though.  
  
“Maybe a few bruises, but mostly I’m good.”  
  
Kame nods. “We’ll take it easy then.”  
  
“What does that mean?” Jin asks, opening his eyes and trying to look at Kame crosseyed while also sort of hanging onto the back of his shirt—because if he means he plans to stop, that is not what’s going to be happening.  
  
Jin feels a little huff of breath and Kame’s first real smile of the night against his mouth.  
  
“Relax. I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
The tension slips out of him again, and he slides his hands under the hem of Kame’s shirt, pleased at the little shiver and hitch. “Good. You better not.”  
  
Kame chuckles again and kisses him once, twice, then a little peck in each corner of his mouth before backing up an inch with his arms still draped around Jin’s shoulders, eyes crossed like Jin’s.  
  
“Bed?”  
  
“Cool.”  
  
Jin follows Kame again, but this time not because he feels like he should. He likes watching Kame walk. He’s got this sort of graceful tiger thing that happens without him even really realizing it, and it’s even better when he shrugs out of his loosened shirt and Jin can see the muscles stretching across his shoulders. It just makes him want to get his hands on them even though he knows them so well he can feel them without touching.  
  
Jin isn’t nearly so graceful as he pulls off his t-shirt and kicks off his jeans and underwear, but for the time being he is content to blame that on the alcohol. He also doesn’t really care, because when Kame glances back at him there’s that little flicker he knows so well, somewhere between desire and the kind of amusement you get from watching a youtube video of a dog on rollerskates. Which is nice when it’s Kame.  
  
There are a few bruises after all, as it turns out—he forgot about that kick to his ribs until he tries to slide under the covers and feels the ache—but it’s not too bad really, no worse than after a really punishing dance rehearsal. He settles back against the pillows with his hands behind his head and watches Kame wandering back and forth across the room naked while he puts things away—can’t leave tuxedo pants strewn carelessly on the floor of course, even for sex—and he grins to himself. It always feels secret. It always is secret, of course, but this part feels more secret, Kame being normal and naked and just not minding that Jin is there. Watching.  
  
When he finishes getting rid of all his jewelry and wiping a thin layer of makeup off his face, Kame scoots under the covers as well and slides over until he’s right beside Jin, till they’re touching from shoulder to ankle. He frowns a little and brushes fingertips over the bruise again.  
  
“Does it hurt bad? Your eye is sort of bloodshot.”  
  
Jin shrugs his free shoulder. “Not too much. I can handle it.”  
  
Kame narrows his eyes knowingly. “You enjoyed it, didn’t you.”  
  
“Getting punched in the face?” Jin says, incredulous.  
  
“No,” Kame says. “But the stuff around it. Playing tough guy, getting arrested, having me tend your battle scars.”  
  
“I did not,” Jin says, but even he can tell it’s weak and petulant. Kame smirks.  
  
“You so did.”  
  
“I did  _not_ ,” Jin repeats, because…because.  
  
“Haaayato,” Kame singsongs.  
  
“Oi. I was protecting  _your_  privacy, you know. Don’t I get any credit for that?”  
  
Kame laughs out loud. “You’re conveniently forgetting that you were the one who put it in danger in the first place.”  
  
“It was a private room!”  
  
“Do I have to remind you how many shady pictures Johnny has stuffed away in a file somewhere of you and me in so-called private rooms?”  
  
Well. Okay, he does have a point about that.  
  
“We were just talking.”  
  
“What exactly did you say?”  
  
“I don’t remember, exactly—it was just, I don’t know…guy talk.”  
  
Kame blinks at him stonily. “I’m a guy, Jin.”  
  
“I know!” Jin rushes to confirm, because they are definitely not having  _that_  argument again. “I know, I don’t mean it like—I just mean—it was  _friend_ -talk, okay? They were asking me how things are with us, and I told them, and it wouldn’t have been a big deal at all except those assholes slipped past the bouncer and—”  
  
“Incurred the wrath of the President of Ass-Kicking, yes, I heard that part. But you’re sure they didn’t hear anything they might repeat to someone?”  
  
“I don’t think so. Yamapi could see them better than I could, but he said he didn’t think they heard me say your name. And without that I could have been talking about anybody. I could have been talking about Meisa.”  
  
Kame looks skeptical again. “You were ‘guy-talking’ about our relationship, but you didn’t say anything that would have made it clear you were talking about a man.”  
  
“It wasn’t…that kind of guy talk. No offense or anything, but Ryo at least is not exactly chomping at the bit for details on what it feels like when you fuck me.”  
  
“That is…definitely not something that offends me.”  
  
“I told them I’m in love with you,” Jin says, hands brushing comfortably up Kame’s sides, and he glances down toward Kame’s collarbone when he feels the little blush in his cheeks. Which is dumb, because it’s not like it’s some big revelation, but he doesn’t usually say it flat out like that. At least maybe the blush is hidden by the bruise. “That’s all. I was telling them how we are together.”  
  
When Kame doesn’t say anything, Jin looks up again. Kame is giving him that skeptical look again, but it’s a little bit amused this time, and really not angry.  
  
And his hair is messed up now, and he looks like a normal naked guy in a normal bed in a normal apartment in 2014, just like Jin. And he’s still beautiful.  
  
“You’re not just saying that to butter me up, right? Because it’s still a really dumb thing to be saying in public.”  
  
“It was a  _priv_ —”  
  
Kame leans in and silences his protest with a kiss. “Shut up,” he murmurs, and then the kiss is full of heat, and Kame shifts over a little, sliding a leg between Jin’s, and  _yes_ , this is good, finally.  
  
Jin slides his hands down further and pulls their hips together, feeling the little gasp on his tongue and the not-so-little hard-on against his hip as Kame lets him have what he wants. He squirms a little more on top and slides a hand between Jin’s back and the mattress, and his touch seems to find Jin everywhere, their skin heating from within.  
  
Jin loves this so much. Kame’s mouth against his throat, knowing just where to touch. The little curl in Kame’s back that presses them closer when Jin’s lips find that spot behind his ear or his thumbs find the crook of his hip. And when Kame starts to move down, spreading kisses across Jin’s chest along the way, that slide of Kame’s taut stomach against his dick, and the hand that knows him, the mouth that knows him even better, oh god…  
  
He can’t even see, Kame’s disappeared under the covers, so it’s only blind touch—but he knows, knows what Kame’s mouth looks like stretched around him, his eyes dark and flicking up to meet Jin’s, and it’s in his mind along with the random sparks of heat and good when Kame’s hands brush along his thighs, tongue curling around his head. A hot-cold breath in the wetness and Jin groans and squirms, reaching blindly for what he thinks is Kame’s shoulder underneath the blanket.  
  
“God, you’re amazing,” Jin breathes, and jerks when Kame suddenly bends lower and  _licks_  him, just there, just a tease, and he must feel the twitch in his hand around Jin’s cock. Then the heat is back, faster, somehow much more intense, like a furnace, how does he  _do_  that…  
  
It sweeps up on him suddenly, a wave that takes over and it’s lucky Kame’s used to this because Jin actually wouldn’t have had time to warn him if he’d tried. It’s hard and good, has him twisting fingers in the sheets and groaning deep when Kame swallows it down, keeps the pressure just enough to drag every last bit of it out of him, until Jin is a twitching, shuddering mess.  
  
Kame looks a bit of a mess too, to be honest, when he peaks his head out from underneath the covers—but he’s smiling and flushed, and his hair is tousled and sticks a little to the side of his face and he still looks fucking gorgeous.  
  
Maybe it’s not even Kame. Maybe he just always looks beautiful to Jin, no matter what.  
  
He crawls back up Jin’s body and Jin pulls him in for a sloppy, jelly-limbed kiss full of mumbled “thank yous” and “you were greats.” He runs his hands down Kame’s arms and rolls him over onto his back, still lazily nuzzling into his neck as he tries to pull himself together. Kame’s hands spread out on Jin’s back and just keep him there.  
  
Jin can feel Kame against his belly, knows he’s still interested, maybe even more so than he was before. But he also knows there’s no rush. He can have a moment. Kame likes that too.  
  
When his arms feel coordinated enough to support his weight again, he turns his face toward Kame and opens his mouth against the side of his neck. “Your turn,” he murmurs, and smiles when the chuckle ripples against his chest.  
  
“Finally,” Kame says.  
  
He’s a little clumsy getting down there, but if Kame minded that he should have known better than to blow Jin first. Anyway, Kame’s fingers in his hair don’t seem to mind very much at all, nor do his eyes following as Jin scoots and shifts and pushes the covers down with him as he goes. Kame likes to see. Kame likes to  _watch_. And particularly on a day when Jin has interrupted Kame’s evening to make him come bail Jin and his Troop of outlaws out of jail, he really thinks Kame should have everything he likes.  
  
He settles himself between Kame’s thighs and kisses the soft skin below his bellybutton, the shallow breaths quivering and dipping underneath his chin. Everybody says Kame smells good, but they have no idea, don’t even get the chance—because Jin is the only one who gets to have him like this. Jin is the only one who gets to see him like this, gets to know what he tastes like when he’s just gotten Jin off with his mouth and he’s so ready Jin can feel it in every breath, every twitch of muscle.  
  
Jin wraps his hand around Kame’s dick and pulls a few times, swirling his tongue against vulnerable skin and watching Kame watching, watching Kame’s tongue poke out to wet his lips, and the way his breath catches when Jin flicks his thumb at the end, just like that. Then Jin lifts his head, nice and slow, wetting his lips with his tongue and doesn’t look away as he opens up and goes down.  
  
“God, yeah…” Kame breathes, arching into the heat, and just the sound of it, low and raspy like that sends a pleasant tingle down Jin’s spine.  
  
He has to concentrate a little for a while, doesn’t keep eye contact while he’s ramping things up, getting him wet and warm and harder still, but he tries to keep his hair out of his face and be conscious of the angle, keeps brushing his thumb in the crook of Kame’s hip, trailing around the edges and underneath, because he knows he’ll get that sound when he gets it right. That little breathless moan that’s Kame starting to lose himself.  
  
Just like that.  
  
Jin glances up again as he rounds his lips over the head and plays with his tongue against it, and really Kame makes it so easy when he’s like that, the dark seductive gaze splintering and shattering until he’s needy and squirming, hips jerking underneath Jin’s hands. Jin smiles a little, teases just a little bit more at the end, then takes him deep and swallows.  
  
“Oh  _fuck_ —”  
  
He can feel the muscles rippling underneath his fingers a split second before he tastes it on the back of his tongue, hot and full and easily swallowed, again, again, watching Kame practically arch off of the mattress. When he settles, his breath comes out rough, and he looks even messier than before. Apart from the bruise, they’re pretty close to even now. Jin likes it.  
  
He kisses his way back up, loving the way Kame twitches underneath him every time he touches a sensitive spot, which seems to be everywhere by now. Kame’s fingers are in his hair and his leg hooks around Jin’s hip, and he sort of pulls him off balance into the pillows and kisses him wetly. Jin wriggles them closer and kisses him back, only their feet still tangled in the sheets.  
  
After a little while he feels Kame’s lips bowing into a smile against his. There’s a little chuckle.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You were putting on quite a show down there.”  
  
The blush burns against his bruise again, but he doesn’t really mind. “Gotta give the people what they want.”  
  
Kame laughs and kisses him again. “Not that I’m complaining, but I don’t usually expect to hear that from you.”  
  
“Well,” Jin says. “It’s a private room.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
Jin wakes up all warm and tired and fuzzy. And his head hurts. But he’s smiling anyway.  
  
He reaches for Kame first thing, but he’s not really all that surprised to find Kame’s side of the bed empty. Kame always seems to be up and out early, off to a photoshoot or a meeting or a taping somewhere. Jin doesn’t really miss all that. His schedule was never as bad as Kame’s—but on days when he’s hungover and bruised and finds himself with sole possession of Kame’s bed while Kame is already at appointment four of fourteen on the agenda, he’s really, really glad he’s his own boss now.  
  
(Well. Mostly. Actually, he should probably check to make sure there aren’t any urgent emails from Lion-san…)  
  
He twists around underneath the covers and squints against the light as he fumbles around the edge of the nightstand. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for he opens his eyes a little more and props himself up, frowning at a brief note stuck to the table where his phone should be.  
  
 _I’ve taken away your cell phone privileges for twenty-four hours as punishment for fighting. You’ll find some interesting pictures on it when you get it back—keep out of reach of children._  
  
 _(That includes the President.)_  
  
 _Love you,_  
  
 _Kazuya_  
  
Jin scowls at the paper and crumples it up, throwing it rebelliously on the floor as he slumps face-first back into the pillows. Stupid Kame. He might have important…stuff…happening involving his phone at some point today. Well. This afternoon, maybe. Though admittedly he rarely schedules things for Sundays, because…well. They come after Saturdays. And Meisa and Theia are out of town. And the other people he usually hangs out with are also hungover and recovering from a brief run-in with the law. Still, though. Smug sneaky jerkface.  
  
He huffs into the pillow and thinks of last night. Thinks of the warm cloth dabbing against his cheek and the firm hand curled around the back of his neck. Thinks of heated skin and whispers against his throat. Thinks of…pictures. His face is still buried in fluff and it kind of hurts from the bruising anyway so he doesn’t know if he’s blushing.  
  
But he knows he’s smiling.


End file.
